


Le Fantôme

by jaistashu



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Horror, Human AU, Poetry, Suspense, alastor making up a ghost story, prose poetry, spooky ooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaistashu/pseuds/jaistashu
Summary: Alastor, the New Orleans radio host, has had a drop in ratings and must conjure a ghost story in order to gain back his listeners' interest and their lives. So sit back and enjoy one of Alastor's many ghost stories: Le Fantôme.Human!AUCompanion piece for Bayou Wandering
Kudos: 10





	Le Fantôme

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bayou Wandering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642426) by [jaistashu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaistashu/pseuds/jaistashu). 



Moving a body was always a process. From the smallest squirrel to the largest gator, there were many things to consider: weight, ease, mess… Alastor had grown accustomed to throwing his considerations through his mind’s eye as whatever creature he’d decided to carve kissed their life goodbye. For alligators, he sectioned. For squirrels, he carried them by the tail as far from his body as possible. The bayou was as nature as nature got, including all the messes that came with it. Which was precisely why Alastor hung his coat at home along with his hat when he went out hunting.

Now, as of late...creatures weren’t good enough. The thrill of a gator snapping at him as he worked out the best way to subdue it had died down somehow. The sounds didn’t make a difference. That hiss of danger was alluring, but...it could never stand up to the absolute adrenaline rush that accompanied a human scream. A scream so aware of its mortality and soaked in paralyzing fear brought the spice back to life. 

Creatures began being fine—they always were. Until the ratings began their decline. No longer was Alastor seen as the best voice over the wire, so a change was in order. A change of format. Listeners knew the news and the weather, but what they were absolutely addicted to was suspense and horror. New Orleans was filled to the brim with so many wonderful things...including ghost stories and legends. It didn’t take so much effort to rewrite and recite a thrilling tale.

But when said tale crawled into the news, splashed against New Orleans’ stone walls, and skittered through shadows under the very beds of his precious listeners, Alastor had to admit that it made for an effective marketing strategy. So he changed prey mid-season from cranes and gators to humans who could shriek for _miles._ His most recent show detailed the tale of a nameless specter who haunted the bayou. 

* * *

“C’est un fantôme magnifique,” Alastor spoke into his mic, “A presence formed through a hapless victim of circumstance. A presence who manifests on the brink between death and life like a reaper who watches with glee upon seeing an alligator clamp its jaws into a wandering man’s leg and—with a twist—drags said man into the murky watery depths. It feels glee. It feels whole. Just for a moment. The water blooms with cloudy red plasma like submerged clouds, and Le Fantôme’s form returns to mist.

“A quiet observer—that’s how he started—Le Fantôme. A tragic and sad thing.

“Until he grew. Spindly, gangling, quick, and sharp. Bulging and top-heavy. It stomped in silence, his upper-body waving every which way until—oh… There was company. An explorer, a child, a criminal, a deer, a mother, a very string of life taking form as a breathing human. Its jowls lifted. Its lack-of-lips widened into a crooked slice through its jaw—a _smile,_ so to speak. Its beady eyes, the only part of it which radiated pure clarity, focused on whatever human wobbled nearby.

“Oh, be careful, my friends. Be careful. He won’t harm you.” Alastor’s tongue ran across his chapped lips. “In his eyes, at least. When one’s a ghost for some time, one loses their humanity, of course. Preservation means nothing. Only desire survives.

“Le Fantôme knows one thing: fear is _fun._ So it lumbers towards you, the hulking mass brushing through trees, having no more effect on the leaves but as a breeze. The carved grin is an abyss gaining on you. You see nothing but your life flash through your eyes as you run. Your ankle gets caught by a root, you trip in a particularly deep puddle, your arm is grabbed by a vengeful tree branch—what did you do to that tree branch to deserve death by supernatural phenomena?”

“I broke sticks in my childhood.”

“Oh, how _dare_ you.

“It lingers because you lingered. Oh, he only wants to watch. He won’t harm you. A fang punctures your shoulder and drags down your skin, unzipping it to find the treats inside. He won’t harm you. He finds an ivory staff in pieces, a shredded cushion or dinner depending on who you ask, a soft material which one could whittle, 24 curved raw materials which make for effective tools. He won’t hurt you. He’ll collect his fear and his treasures from your shapeless sac, and—oh, what the hell!—he’ll just take the sac, too! It’s perfect for paper-making.

“As I said, dear listeners, he won’t hurt you. You’ll hang there, feeling right at home where you last stood—where you passed beside that vengeful tree branch. And you’ll stay there. Suspended. Asleep. Until you hear a shriek in the night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading Le Fantôme! If you want to see where this ghost story world-building fits in with a Human!Angel-centric fic of mine, look to Bayou Wandering!


End file.
